The very Typical Love Triangle
by The Soapbox Writer
Summary: Mary has returned from boarding school. Colin becomes a brat again, and Dickon is sweet, adorable, and innocent as always.


It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and all that other stuff that happens on these wonderful, magical, beautiful days.

Mary Lennox was finally returning home from boarding school. Why she was sent away in such a hurry was a strange thing, really.

"I think it's time that you left," Lord Craven had told her.

"But why?" asked Mary, shocked.

"I honestly don't know. We're all happy here, and you are part of the reason we're so happy, but you still have to go."

"Where should I go, then?"

"To boarding school," was lord Craven's reply, "hopefully a tragedy won't strike, leaving you penniless, forcing you to work as a servant, and- Never mind. I've said too much. Farewell!"

With that, Mary had been sent away.

***

Oh! She was so happy to be home! She couldn't wait to see all the familiar rooms, and all the familiar people, and to return to her garden, and especially to-

"Aaagh!"

"What was that?" asked Mary.

"Colin is throwing another tantrum!" Martha screamed, running out of the room.

A tantrum? She couldn't remember the last time her cousin had one of those. So, Mary went off to Colin's room to see where all his character development had gone.

"Colin!" Mary yelled, when she had finally reached his room, "how dare you lose all the character development that I helped you achieve?"

Her cousin turned to face her, then opened his mouth and said:

"Marry me, or else!"

"What?"

"Aaagh! I'm trying to be a horrible brat so the readers can hate me! Now marry me or else! Aaagh!"

Mary stood there, mouth agape. Whatever had happened to her dear Colin? Maybe he wasn't the friend she thought he was!

She had been standing there for five minutes when Colin spoke again.

"Psst. You're forgetting your lines," he whispered.

"Oh, that's right," she said quickly, then got into character, "No, I won't marry you! You're stupid, horrible and mean! I'm going to go angst in the garden!"

With that, she stormed out of his room and went to go angst in the garden.

Her angsting was interrupted, however, when sweet, adorable, innocent Dickon walked in.

"Colin's being a meanie!" Mary complained.

"Don't worry, Mary," said sweet, adorable, innocent Dickon, "I'll never ever ever ever ever ever..."

Two hours passed by.

"...ever ever ever ever ever ever..."

Another two hours went by.

"...Ever ever ever ever be like bratty, spoiled, obnoxious..."

Yet another two hours passed.

"...stupid, mean, and horrible Colin!"

"Are you finished?" Mary asked, tired from his very long statement.

"Yes," replied sweet, adorable, innocent Dickon.

And just like that, Mary wasn't upset anymore.

"Oh, sweet, adorable, innocent Dickon, you're my very bestest best friend!" Mary declared.

"Does that mean you will fall in love with me?" he asked, hopeful.

"Well-"

"Nooo!" cried Colin, appearing out of nowhere, "I will go into a jealous rage! Raaage!"

Mary, choosing not to question Colin's sudden appearance for the time being, opened her mouth to reply.

"No-"

"Ha! She loves me more! In your face!" Colin cried, triumphantly.

"No she doesn't!" sweet, adorable, innocent Dickon screamed, "she loves me more! Isn't that right, Mary?"

"Guys?"

"I saw her first!" sweet, adorable, innocent Dickon continued, not as sweet, adorable, and innocent as before, "and besides! I'm sweet, adorable, innocent Dickon! You don't have any compliments before your name. You're just Colin."

"Really, there's no need to fight," said Mary, who was very much ignored.

"Well, she still loves me more!"

Mary sighed and walked away from the two boys. She decided to explain later.

***

Now, Mary was walking down the isle. What she hadn't gotten to tell the boys, was that her choice had been made before she had arrived. It wasn't either of them. It was someone who they hadn't met.

His name, you ask?

Lord Fauntleroy.

* * *

Personally, I'm a Sara/Seddie shipper.


End file.
